Timelessly Yours
by TheGirlwiththeSilverPen
Summary: "You said you needed help finding the boy," Hook raised his eyebrow in that annoying way of his. "Yeah, well," Emma said bitterly, "I didn't expect it to be you." [Neverland AU]
1. Chapter 1

**Author Note: **So I know I'm late boarding the Captain Swan ship, but I started writing this a little while ago intending to finish it before the end of the hiatus and somehow Season 3 snuck up on us and I wasn't prepared. I'm currently around two-thirds of the way through but I couldn't wait anymore so I just decided to start publishing it :) It's an AU post 'And Straight on 'Till Morning' and will probably end up being around ten chapters long. I'll be editing and publishing chapters as I write so bear with me! This is my first ever fanfic so I'd greatly appreciate any reviews and feedback xx

* * *

They had been in Neverland for all of eighteen minutes, and already things were taking a turn for the worse.

"Bloody crocodile! I ought to skin you right here."

_Yep_, Emma thought, _definitely worse_.

"Hey!" she stalked over to the source of the commotion, stumbling slightly as the deck rocked beneath her feet, the lurching of the floorboards making her stomach heave. Hook had Mr Gold dangling over the side of the ship by the front of his shirt. "What the hell is going on over here?!"

"My presence on this ship seems to infuriate him," Gold remarked dryly. "What's the matter, pirate?" he leered, "can't handle the fact that I crushed Milah's heart in this very spot?"

The aforementioned pirate's hook was being smashed into Gold's face before Emma had time to react. Hook slammed the older man back against the wall and pressed the sharp, curved metal against his throat.

"Go ahead," Gold snarled, blood welling up from the gash under his eye.

"Hey!" Emma repeated, grabbing Hook's arm and wrenching him away. The pirate stumbled back a few feet, and Gold dropped to the ground, coughing and wiping a hand across his face, smearing blood along his cheek. His eye was swelling rapidly. She jabbed an accusatory finger at Hook, "cut it out. _Both_ of you," she added, turning her glare on Gold.

"As you wish, dearie," Gold reached for his cane and used it to prop himself up. Hook let loose a stream of profanity that involved the use of several words Emma hadn't even known existed, but made no move to attack him again.

It was at that moment that David burst onto the deck with a shout, looking ready to shoot someone. Mary Margaret followed closely behind, smoothing her hair and tugging at the hem of her shirt.

"What the hell–" her father took one look at the blood on Gold's face and swung around towards Hook.

"Whoa," Emma stepped in front of him, placing a hand on his chest, "it's okay, really. I handled it."

"You handled it," David repeated. He looked from his daughter to the pirate, brow creased as if the words were in a foreign language.

"Nice of you two to finally make an appearance," Regina remarked from where she had stood and watched the whole thing, an impassive expression on her face.

Snow flushed guiltily, and Emma caught sight of a faint smudge of red lipstick on David's cheek as he turned away.

Great: while she had been playing babysitter to Captain Hook and Rumplestiltskin, her parents had been getting fifty shades of inappropriate below deck.

"Now that you boys are done squabbling, why don't we all move on to more productive things, like, say, finding my son. Or have you all forgotten the reason that we're here?"

"Regina's right," Emma put in, albeit reluctantly, "we're wasting time. Henry's our main focus right now," she swallowed around the lump in her throat and squared her shoulders, turning to Gold, "so how do we know where he is?"

"We don't," Gold said matter-of-factly, "the globe showed us that he's somewhere on the main part of the island, but there's no way of knowing his exact location."

"Well that's just great," Emma crossed her arms, "wonderful." She turned away, leaning against the side of the ship and staring out across the water at the island in the distance. Henry was there somewhere, lost amongst all that greenery. After a moment, she felt Snow's hand on her shoulder, warm and reassuring.

"You might not want to hear this, but there's also no way of steering the _Jolly _safely to shore," Hook said, "there are no ports. We'd run aground."

"So, what, we swim there?" David asked.

"Can't," Hook replied, "these seas are infested with sirens. They'd be on us the second we touched the water."

"So we use magic," Snow said confidently, "transport ourselves there with a spell."

"It's not that easy, I'm afraid," he sounded genuinely contrite, "magic works differently in Neverland. It has to be drawn from nature: from the sea or the land or the air. You would have to devise a new kind of spell, one that works here."

"So basically what you're saying is that we're stranded here, with no way of getting to shore," Emma said flatly.

"And you didn't think to tell us this _before_ we took a one-way trip through a portal?" Regina demanded.

Hook regarded her with contempt, "would it have made a difference?"

There was a long pause.

"No," Regina admitted finally, "I guess it wouldn't have."

Emma's fingernails dug into the wood, her knuckles white. No way of getting there without a new spell, and that could take weeks. Henry could be anywhere by then. "There has to be some other way," she tore her gaze away from the sea, turning to Hook imploringly, "you spent years here. I know you and your crew lived on the island at some point. How did you get there?"

He didn't respond, his eyes sliding away from hers.

"_Hook_," she snapped.

He sighed and slowly turned to look her straight in the eye, "we threw one of our crew to the sirens and made a break for shore while they were distracted with him."

A heavy silence settled over them as the words registered in everyone's mind.

"Oh," Emma said in a small voice.

"Any volunteers?" Regina put in, sarcastic as ever.

Nobody spoke. Hook's expression was pained, as though he wished he were anywhere but here, and for once Emma agreed with him.

* * *

Emma stared out to sea, trying to quell the dark thoughts racing through her mind. They had finally given up on finding another way onto the island after hours of brainstorming solutions. Hook had anchored the _Jolly Roger_ as close to shore as possible, and Gold and Regina had grudgingly agreed to work together to come up with a spell. It was the best they could do for now, but it wasn't enough to take away the hollow ache in her chest.

The others were all asleep in their bunks below deck, but she had been awake for hours, pacing the small space restlessly before finally coming up to get some air. The island – and Henry – was less than seventy metres away, so tantalisingly close yet so far out of reach.

Emma took another sip from the bottle of whisky she had swiped from the collection of supplies below deck, trying to discern any movement beneath the surface of the water. She wondered how long it would take the sirens to reach her if she jumped overboard right now, whether she had any hope of making it to shore alive.

"You do look rather ravishing bathed in moonlight, I must say."

She jumped at Hook's voice behind her, whirling around and clumsily knocking over the empty bottle by her feet, sending it rolling over the gently undulating deck. Hook watched it roll away, then turned to look pointedly at the second one in her hand. She raised her chin defiantly, and tilted her head to take another swig before shaking the bottle in exasperation. Empty.

"Where's all the alcohol on this damn boat?"

"Ship," he corrected her automatically, but the corners of his mouth twitched up into a smile, "you should know by now that a pirate always guards his most valued treasure."

She thought for a moment, "feel like sharing any of it with me?"

"Not even slightly," he told her, "besides, I think you've had quite a fair bit to drink already, lass."

"I can handle it," she insisted, feeling herself sway slightly and wondering belatedly if she actually could. She had thought drinking would take her mind off Henry, but if anything it had only intensified the bleak thoughts, caused them to cloud her mind like shadows blotting out the sun.

Hook's grin faltered when he saw her face, and she recognised his expression immediately. It was one she had seen countless times before, on all the social workers and teachers and foster parents she had ever had. It was the face someone made when looking at something hopeless, broken beyond repair.

"Listen, Emma," he began, taking a step towards her, and it was his use of her first name that let her know he was being serious, "I didn't get a chance to say it before, but I truly am sorry about your son, and about Baelfire, and…well, about everything."

Emma knew in that moment that he wasn't only apologising for leaving her trapped in Rumplestiltskin's cell and forming an alliance with Cora, but for all the decisions he had made that had led them here.

"If there's anything I can do to help, just say the word," he was still looking at her with that pitying expression, the one that everyone had been giving her since Neal had fallen through the portal. She couldn't stand it. If there was one thing that Captain Hook wasn't, it was sympathetic.

She shook her head, swallowing past the lump in her throat. She had managed to push Neal out of her mind, to focus solely on finding Henry, but now all the thoughts were bubbling up again: the anger and the grief. She was furious at Neal for letting go, for putting her life ahead of his own when she had never asked him to, but most of all she was furious at herself: for not being stronger, holding on tighter, for not trying harder to hold on to him.

"Don't," her voice was thick when she finally spoke.

"Don't what?"

"Don't look at me like that," she met his eyes, "like I'm some kind of wounded animal, like I deserve your sympathy when I'm the one who should be apologising. I'm the one who left you in that giant's lair. Maybe if I'd just listened to you…" she hesitated for a beat before finally saying aloud the thought that had been plaguing her for weeks, "…maybe if I'd just _trusted_ you, none of this would be happening right now."

If she had just let Hook join them, they wouldn't have had to deal with Cora's scheming or Regina's wrath after her death. Maybe without that added distraction, they could have spent more time focusing on exactly why Greg had come to Storybrooke in the first place. They could have stopped Greg and Tamara before things had gotten so out of hand.

Hook shook his head, "if I've learned anything from the last three centuries, it's that thoughts of that sort can only bring misery. It does no good to reflect on the past, on the what-ifs and the might-have-beens," his eyes were shadowy; "they can only tear you apart."

"Is that how you live with yourself after all the things you've done?" the words were out of her mouth before she had time to process them.

There was a long pause, and Emma thought for a moment that she'd gone too far, that he would close himself off as he had so many times before.

"I suppose it is," he said finally, glancing away from her, "you tell yourself that whatever you did was necessary at the time, that it was the only available option. Then you wake up the following day and move on. And you don't look back."

Emma blinked, and for a moment she saw Killian Jones standing before her, saw the vulnerability he usually kept masked under the layers of Captain Hook, the façade he had constructed for himself. She remembered the hurt in his eyes when she had chained him to the wall in the giant's lair, the imploring note in his voice as he asked her to trust him. That had been Killian, not Hook, she knew that now. She just hadn't wanted to believe it at the time.

"What is it?" he asked, and she flushed and dropped her gaze, realising she'd been staring.

"Nothing," she mumbled, "it's just...I remember being the same way before I came to Storybrooke. I tried so hard to block out the past, but in the end everything just got dredged back up again. Especially with Neal–"

She stopped herself. Her hand instinctively went to her neck, where the Swan keychain had always hung, then dropped to her side when she remembered it wasn't there anymore.

Hook looked at her for a moment or two, then said quietly, "what happened between you two, if I may ask?"

She sighed, "it's complicated."

There was a flicker of a smile on his face, "more complicated than Henry's family tree? _That_ took quite some time for me to comprehend."

Emma laughed in spite of herself, "I guess not."

He stood there, not pushing or prying, just waiting for her to speak first. And so she did.

"We were both escaping our pasts. I was running away from my foster home, and he…well, he was running from his father, I guess."

"Rumplestiltskin," Hook clarified.

Emma nodded, "I knew it was a mistake to get involved with him. He was a thief, a criminal. I was just a kid, barely seventeen, but I thought…" she sighed, "I don't even know what I thought. I just knew that he was the only person who'd ever made me feel like I had a home, like someone cared…" her voice turned hard, "then he let me go to jail for his crimes and disappeared without a single trace."

She knew even as she said it that she wasn't being fair, but she couldn't help it. The bitterness of his betrayal still remained, like an old wound that would never completely heal.

"That's what I thought anyway," she continued, knowing she had to tell the whole story for Henry's sake. "Turns out that August – that _Pinnochio _told him to stay away from me, that it was the only way he could help me to fulfil my destiny and break the curse. So he did, and I went to jail. By the time I found out I was pregnant he was long gone. The first time I heard about any of this was when I tracked him down for Gold: I had no idea who he really was. So he found out about Henry after disappearing for eleven years, and you know what he said? He wanted to know why I'd kept it from him. Like I owed it to him or something," she laughed, the sound bitter, falling flat in the silence.

"I knew Baelfire once," Hook said, "he came to me as a boy in Neverland. It was only for a short time, but I saw the kind of lad that he was: defiant, courageous, even in the face of adversity. The Bae I knew would never have done that to you. But maybe somewhere along the way to becoming _Neal_, he lost his true self. Maybe being in the Land Without Magic changed him."

"Maybe," Emma sagged against the side of the ship, suddenly exhausted.

Hook watched her for a moment, his expression unreadable. "It's been a long day," he said finally, "you should rest."

She waited for him to make some jibe about helping her to 'rest', but it didn't come. He turned and made his way across the deck to the stairs leading down into the cabins, and she followed him, casting one last look at the island as she went. He was waiting for her at the bottom of the steps, and as Emma began to descend them she felt a sudden wave of dizziness overwhelm her. The world blurred and shifted, and she blindly threw out a hand to steady herself as her feet slipped out from under her.

His arms were around her waist before she had time to register what was happening, holding her tightly and steadying her against him. Her hands automatically grabbed onto the lapels of his leather trench coat.

And then they were so close that their noses were almost bumping, his breath tickling her face, her mouth hovering just inches above his. If either of them moved just a fraction, they would be kissing. Moments passed. He didn't let go of her, and she didn't want him to. His gaze locked onto hers, and Emma's breath caught in her throat. She had never noticed how _blue_ his eyes were until now.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, he released her, and she stumbled down the last few steps. She stared up at him wordlessly, her heart drumming furiously against her ribs. His eyes darkened, sweeping over her hungrily before focusing on her mouth.

Then he seemed to shake himself. His voice was gruff when he spoke, "get some sleep." He turned abruptly, the door to his cabin closing behind him.

And Emma was left standing in the hallway, wondering what exactly had just happened.

She couldn't help but feel disappointed.


	2. Chapter 2

Over the next few days, Emma saw a side of Hook that she had only glimpsed fleetingly before. In the rare occasions that they were alone together, his walls would come down and his brash demeanour would fade, replaced by an oddly uncharacteristic sincerity. The more she saw this hidden side of him, the more Emma began to notice a distinct difference between his two personas: Hook was slick, smooth-talking, all polished veneer and roguish charm; Killian was measured, thoughtful, more genuine. He talked about his adventures as a young deckhand aboard an older pirate's ship; told her what he remembered of his father, the man who had abandoned him long ago; he told her what had happened to Milah. In those moments Emma could hardly bear to see the shadows in his expression, the ghosts from his past coming back to haunt him. It made her want to reach out, to hold him close and whisper promises she knew she couldn't keep; promises of family, of love and hope – a happy ending. But they both knew better than to believe in happy endings.

Instead, she told him about the long string of foster homes that had occupied her childhood, about her experiences in jail and in the years before Henry had shown up on her doorstep and her whole world had been thrown off-kilter. It became a kind of game between them: 'I'll-show-you-mine-if-you-show-me-yours'. They revealed the darkest parts of themselves; the raw wounds and the age-old scars. Nothing he told her was too much to handle, and the same applied to him. Of course, he had more than two-hundred years of life experience on her, but her mere twenty-eight years had been anything but bland. It was on these occasions, leaning against the side of the ship and swapping stories, that Emma saw the man she had glimpsed at the top of the beanstalk, the one who had returned to Storybrooke and offered his services to help find her son. She saw Killian Jones when the others only saw Captain Hook.

And now they were fighting.

"God, Hook, if you'd just give it a chance–"

"It's a bloody stupid idea and that's the end of it." He stalked away from her, to the helm of the ship. It was well after midnight, the barest sliver of a moon already beginning to descend in the sky. The others had gone to sleep some time ago, but Emma had stayed above deck, lingering until he finished securing the ship. She had a plan to find Henry, but she couldn't do it alone.

"So that's it? Your word is final now? I don't think so," she followed him, her boots clicking against the polished wood. It had taken her awhile to get her sea legs, but now being aboard the rocking deck felt as natural to her as breathing.

He whirled to face her, blue eyes electric, "_I _am the Captain of this ship, or have you forgotten that?"

Emma crossed her arms firmly over her chest, refusing to back down, "he's _my_ son."

"You're out of your mind, Swan. You don't even know what it is you're suggesting."

She narrowed her eyes at him, "don't patronise me. You said yourself that making a deal with the sirens is the best way to get information around here."

"I also said it was one of the stupidest things a person could do," he gritted his teeth, "you have no idea what they're capable of."

"And you do?" she shot back.

His face darkened, and she saw something flicker momentarily in his eyes before it was gone; some memory from his past that he had yet to reveal to her. _Of course he knows_, she thought bitterly. This was, after all, a man who was willing to go to the ends of the Earth and back to exact his revenge.

She sighed, "look, it's simple. I trade them an object of mine for information on Henry's location. Problem solved."

"There's nothing simple about it," he snapped, "once a deal is made, Swan, they own you. They won't tell you a single thing unless what you give them is valuable; something close to your heart – and if they have that they have a piece of you. They can access your most treasured memories, your darkest fears. And they use them against you. "

"You seem to have gotten away just fine," she pointed out.

Again she saw a shadow flit across his features. His eyes flashed dangerously. "Aye," he agreed, "but it came at a price, and what I experienced in the few weeks that the sirens owned me…" he trailed off, glancing out at the vast expanse of flat, deceptively calm ocean. When he looked back at her his eyes had returned to their usual piercing blue, "…well, lass, that is not a fate I would wish upon anyone."

_Not even Mr. Gold? _Emma bit back the urge to respond. Instead she squared her shoulders, "whatever the cost, it can't be as bad as this," she gestured at the water all around them, suddenly feeling very small, "it can't be as bad as knowing that he's out there somewhere, scared and alone, but having no way of reaching him." She looked up at him, her voice pleading, "you know I can't manage this on my own. Maybe with you backing me up, the others will agree to help," it was a struggle for her to get the words out, but she forced down her pride and said it anyway.

"I know you want your boy back, but this isn't the way. We _will_ find him, Emma. I promise." There was no trace of Hook's sardonic smile in his expression. He was Killian Jones again.

She tilted her chin stubbornly, and her next words were edged with ice, "I thought you of all people would understand." She turned to leave, but he caught her wrist, spinning her back around to face him.

"I do understand," he looked at her, "believe me. But this is too dangerous, lass. What good will it do to rescue him at the cost of your own soul?"

His fingers still encircled her wrist, and she was suddenly very aware of the warmth of his skin on hers. She forced her walls back into place, willing herself to be indifferent to the expression on his face. "Why do you even care?"

The effect of her words was instantaneous. Colour rushed to his cheeks, and his mouth half-opened in astonishment, then closed again, setting into a hard line. "I've offered you my ship," he said roughly, "I've put up with that blasted crocodile for the past four days. I've returned to bloody _Neverland_, with not a single complaint. And yet you continue to doubt my intentions."

She glared at him, shaking her arm free, "so what if I do? For the past three centuries all you've cared about is yourself and your revenge. And I'm supposed to believe that suddenly you've changed?! Of course there's something in it for you. There always is."

She didn't know if he moved first or she did, but suddenly he was right in her face, positively seething with fury, "you still don't get it, do you? I thought I made it perfectly clear why I was here."

"Not to me," Emma retorted, "why are you even–"

And then he kissed her.

It was hot and hard and hungry, his mouth claiming hers, channelling the tension and desire and pent up frustration that had been crackling between them ever since they had climbed that beanstalk together. She gasped against his mouth, her hands flattening out on his chest, but he only held her tighter, pulling her closer. His hand was in her hair, his left arm thrown around her waist, clutching her to him in a possessive, vice-like grip. And in that moment she felt all of it, felt him wanting her, _needing_ her to understand, to trust him. She closed her eyes and kissed him back. Heat radiated from his body, making her feel deliciously warm. He tasted like salt and spice and faintly of rum. He smelled like home. She wanted nothing more than to reach up and twine her fingers through his hair and–

"Stop," she broke away from him abruptly, her breathing ragged.

The night rushed over her, the chilly air slapping her back into reality. They were standing on the deck of the _Jolly Roger_, every surface coated in a cold silvery light. She had the feeling of resurfacing from frigid water.

"Emma…"

And he was staring at her as if she were the most amazing thing on Earth. His voice was just as unsteady as hers had been, his breath forming white clouds in the air between them. His face was so open, so trusting. It hurt to look at him. He raised his hand as if to reach for her, and she stepped back almost automatically, keeping herself at arm's length.

"Don't," her voice was harsh in the still silence, and he dropped his hand immediately, flinching as if she'd scalded him.

"Emma," he said again, more quietly this time.

She shut her eyes, and her memories seemed to collide behind her closed lids, the fragmented images all blurring into one. Graham saying her name; Neal saying her name; and now Hook. It always ended the same way. She saw the pain in Graham's face as he slumped into her arms. She felt her hand grasping nothing but air as Neal let go and disappeared into the void.

"Please." Her voice was raw, betraying the emotion she usually kept locked away so securely. She opened her eyes, and he was still looking at her, his eyes never wavering from hers. She couldn't bear the expression in their blue depths.

So she turned and walked away, for once in her life leaving before she had the chance to be left.

* * *

**Author Note:** So...yeah :) I thought it was only appropriate to post this given the recent - _ahem_ - spoilers about our favourite Pirate and Saviour. **cough_GoodForm_cough** I honestly don't know how I'm going to make it to next week's episode (nine days! It might as well be a millenia away). I'll try to get the next chapter edited before 'Nasty Habits' airs. And hey, while you're anticipating that much-hyped Captain Swan moment, why not send a review my way? I've never really written a scene like this before so I have no idea if it's good or horrible or what, but let me know!


	3. Chapter 3

For three days Emma steadfastly avoided the pirate. This was a miracle in itself: there were only so many places on the ship where one could hide. There were times when she would catch him looking at her, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, as if she were some ancient code he was trying to decipher. She would always glance away, busying herself running errands or keeping the peace between an increasingly agitated Regina and Mr. Gold. Mary Margaret must have noticed that something had changed, because her gaze would often flicker between the two of them, her forehead puckered as she tried to connect all the dots. So Emma avoided her mother as well; she wasn't ready for questions when she didn't have a single answer.

On the morning of the fourth day, though, Hook finally cornered her.

Gold, Regina, Mary Margaret and David – she still hadn't gotten used to the idea of calling them _mom_ and _dad_ – were above deck, arguing about magic over their breakfast of dehydrated meat and canned fruit. Emma had left the conversation and returned to their shared cabin to get something. She had just found what she was looking for when she felt his presence.

"I just want to talk."

Those words had never boded well, in her experience. She turned slowly, schooling her features into a cool, casual mask of indifference, "okay then. Talk."

He, for once, didn't have a witty one-liner to hurl back at her. He merely regarded her curiously, his eyes bright in the dimness of the room. The silence unnerved her: their conversations had always consisted of a rapid back-and-forth, an easy give-and-take, with both of them making jabs at each other. She had been able to handle his sarcastic remarks and obscene suggestions, but this was completely uncharted territory. At least when he was tossing out innuendos she knew exactly what he was thinking, no matter how indecent. His silence could have meant anything.

Finally, he spoke; "what is it that you're so afraid of?"

She levelled her gaze with his, "what makes you think I'm afraid of anything?"

He smirked, a flicker of the old Hook returning, "you forget love, you're quite easy to read."

Emma scowled, crossing her arms over her chest. He took a step towards her, then another, covering the space between them in three easy strides. His very presence seemed to suck all of the oxygen out of the air, making it difficult to do normal human things such as think and breathe. She thought about how easy it would be to close that distance, to grab the lapels of that trench coat he always wore and pull him down to her. She thought about how his lips had felt on hers that night.

"You're afraid of being hurt again," his voice was soft, scarcely more than a whisper. She dragged her gaze up from his mouth. His eyes shifted and swirled with different shades of blue, rooting her to the spot with their sheer intensity. "You're afraid to let down your guard. You're afraid because that kiss meant something and you know it."

She glanced away, hating how easily he saw through her, through the walls she had built up so carefully, brick by brick, until everything around her was reduced to meaningless noise. Her breathing hitched when his hand came up to cup her face.

"Hook," the name sounded strange coming from her mouth, almost foreign. She didn't know when she had started thinking of him as Killian, but she wasn't about to let him know that she had.

"Am I wrong?" his thumb was tracing patterns along her cheekbone, his touch so light it was barely there.

Her heart stuttered in her chest, fluttering frantically against her ribcage like a moth trapped behind glass. She wanted to turn away from him, to break whatever hold he had over her. She wanted to kiss him again. She wanted so many things at once that they all became tangled up in her head, impossible to separate from one another.

"Maybe," she murmured.

"Emma."

Her chest constricted painfully. It was the way he said her name; as if it were a delicious secret, something to be revered. It broke her to pieces and put her back together all in the same instant.

"I just–" she forced strength into her words, "I don't think it meant what you want it to mean."

"I don't believe you."

She shook her head, "it's the truth."

He tilted his head to the side, studying her face, "you're a dreadful liar darling, has anybody ever told you that?"

She jerked away from him, finally snapping out of her trance. He was so infuriatingly stubborn. "Well I'm not lying about this, okay? So just drop it."

"No."

She clenched her fists, knowing that she looked like a petulant five-year-old who wasn't getting her way and hating him for it, "can you please just be co-operative for one _freaking_ minute?"

He said nothing.

"Hook, I swear to God–"

"Why?" The question brought her up short. Everyone else had snapped right back at her, retaliating just as she knew they would. No one had ever asked her _why_.

"Because I told you to."

"That isn't an answer, Emma."

Emma met his gaze. She refused to play this game with him. He stared right back at her, unwavering. She suddenly wondered what she looked like to him, whether he could really gauge the emotion in her face as well as he claimed.

"Because…" she broke. He should know the reason better than anybody. People were nothing but paper, cut out and trimmed to shape; so easy to rip and tear. She was sick of trying to put back the pieces when they couldn't be fixed. "…Because people like you and me. People like us. We don't _get_ happy endings. We're not meant to have them."

"Do you honestly believe that?"

"Jesus. Don't you?"

He paused, then slowly held up his hook, examining it in the light that glinted off the metal. He seemed unfocused, caught up in some faraway place, a distant memory. "Try something new, darling. Take a leap of faith."

_I can't take a chance that you won't be there to catch me. _

"Please," the voice didn't sound like her own, "just let it go."

He met her eyes, "I can't."

"Emma? Are you–" Mary Margaret cut herself off abruptly as she entered the room. Her eyes swept over her daughter, then Hook, narrowing as she tried to piece things together. "Is everything alright down here?"

Hook was still staring at her.

"Fine," Emma said brightly. Too brightly. "Hook was just–"

"Leaving," he cut in brusquely, finally glancing away, "thank you so much for your company, _milady_." He turned and walked out of the room.

* * *

Her mother found her again a little while later.

Emma was sitting in the hold of the ship, where she had been since her and Hook's confrontation. She stared at the small rounded object in her palm, her brow furrowed.

"Hey."

She closed her fist and glanced up, giving a wan smile, "hey."

Snow came and sat down beside her. They said nothing for a few moments, and Emma found herself suddenly longing for the Mary Margaret that she had known before the curse had been lifted, the one she could have confided in about anything. It was different now that they were mother and daughter; there were rules, things that could and couldn't be discussed.

Her mother seemed to be just as lost as she was. Of course she would be. It had to be strange, suddenly having a grown-up daughter when she had been an infant the last time you saw her. Emma wondered – as she always had in some small, quiet part of her mind, whether she was everything her parents had expected her to be, whether they were disappointed with the person she had become.

"You care about him," Mary Margaret said finally.

"I don't," Emma said.

Snow fixed her daughter with a knowing glance, "maybe you don't want to, and maybe you're not ready to admit it yet, but you do care, Emma."

Emma glanced up at the ceiling and sighed, "do you always have to be right?"

She smiled, "I'm your mother, remember? It's my job."

"How could I forget?"

Her mother laughed, and when she spoke again her voice was gentle; "look, Emma, I know that you're still hurting over Neal, and that finding Henry is your number one priority right now. But I also know that Hook has been hell-bent on revenge for the last three centuries, and there was nothing stopping him from sailing off with that magic bean. But he changed his mind, he came back. Because of_ you_." She hesitated for a few moments, "And I honestly think…I think the two of you are good for each other."

Emma just stared at her, suddenly overwhelmed by the ridiculous urge to burst out laughing. In all her life she had never thought that Snow White would be encouraging her to go after Captain Hook.

Mary Margaret must have thought the same thing, because she continued earnestly, "it's just…I see something in you two. You're the only reason he hasn't torn out Gold's throat yet; you keep him level-headed. And Hook…well, he understands you in a way that no one else does. When you're around him you just seem…" she paused, "…_alive_."

"As opposed to being dead," Emma said flatly.

Snow sighed, and they fell into silence again. The deck above was quiet, no sound except for the creaking of the wood as the ship rocked beneath them.

"We had a conversation like this once before, when everyone was still under the curse," her mother said.

Emma hesitated, "yeah, I remember."

_You're just protecting yourself – with that wall you put up..._

_There's nothing wrong with being cautious._

_Oh, true…But Emma, that wall of yours – it may keep out pain; but it also may keep out love._

"You were right," Emma said, more to herself than to anyone else, "my walls do keep me from being hurt. I let them down, I let Graham into my life, and what happened? He died."

Love and hurt. They were twined together, two branches of the same tree. You couldn't have love without hurt. You couldn't be hurt without love. This was what the world had raised her to believe, what she had told herself every day for as long as she could remember. She had been cruelly reminded of it the few times she had been careless enough to forget.

"What happened to him wasn't your fault."

"Maybe not," she replied, "but that doesn't change the fact that it happened."

"I know it doesn't. And I'm so sorry that you had to go through all of that alone..." regret flashed through her eyes, "I'm sorry that I wasn't there for you the way I should have been – as your mother. And that's why I'm telling you now that you can't let your past define you. I know what it feels like, to not want to open up to others in case you get hurt. I was your age once – still am, actually," she smiled ruefully. "But if there's anything I've learned from being in Storybrooke, it's that life's too unpredictable to let your actions be controlled by doubt or fear. One day you're waking up in a palace with Prince Charming, and the next…" she shrugged, "…you're cursed. That's just how it goes. So once you find something worth it, _really_ worth it, you have to hold on as tight as you can. It isn't always easy, but if it's what you want, then you have to _fight_ for it. And you're a fighter, Emma. I know you are."

When she didn't reply, Mary Margaret got up and walked away. She stopped at the door, glancing back at her daughter, "I don't know what happened between you two, but he's really trying. Why don't you meet him halfway?"

Emma sat there for a long time after she was gone, staring up at the slats in the ceiling. She knew Mary Margaret meant well, but she didn't understand, not really. Her mother had been raised in a world of happy endings; of princesses and fairy godmothers and knights in shining armour. Emma knew her problems couldn't be solved with the flick of a wand. To love was to hurt. She wouldn't let herself forget that again.

She looked down at the object she still clutched in her palm. It was a badge Henry had made her; a hissing snake had been painstakingly drawn onto its surface and coloured in with crayon, the words '_Operation Cobra'_ printed carefully underneath. He had given it to her just days before the curse had been lifted, and she had kept it ever since, folded in a handkerchief. Emma looked at it for a few more moments before tucking it into the pocket of her jeans.

She knew what she had to do.

* * *

Nobody noticed her stepping onto the deck. They were all too involved in an argument.

"Look," David was saying as he paced in front of the helm, "I say we just scare them off then make a break for it."

"That's all good and well, _your highness_, but you're forgetting that sirens have highly acute senses. The second we're in the water, they'll know – and they'll converge on us like a pack of sharks," Gold said.

David shrugged, "okay, then, we'll just have to shoot some sirens. Regular magic might not work in Neverland, but guns sure do."

"It's too dangerous," Snow said, "there has to be some other way. Sirens aren't invincible. They must have some sort of weakness."

Gold paused, "there is a spell I've been working on, but it is immensely difficult–"

"Well _do it_," Regina stood up, crossing her arms, "I don't care what the price is. I'm finding my son."

Emma slipped away from everyone, around to the other side of the _Jolly Roger_. The sea was tumultuous; waves crashing against the side of the ship and causing it to sway violently. She peered over the side of the ship. There was no sign of movement beneath the churning waves, but she knew exactly how to summon them. She fished the badge out of her pocket then pressed its safety pin into the tip of her finger, sucking in a breath and wincing slightly as the sharp needle pierced her skin. A drop of blood beaded on her finger, and she turned her hand, letting it fall into the ocean.

She waited.

The water rippled, something flashing beneath the surface. Then the creature emerged.

It was a woman. Or it looked like one. Long, flowing locks of blonde hair covered her breasts, dark lashes fringed her jade-coloured eyes. Her lips were full and soft, stained crimson. Her skin was a sun-kissed golden-brown, seeming luminous even in the watery light filtering through the oppressive grey clouds overhead. Underneath the water flashed a distinctly fishlike tail. A siren.

"_Yesss?_" her voice was a sinuous, seductive whisper.

Emma felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. That voice unlocked something deep within her, an inexplicable yearning that coursed through her veins. She could only stare, mesmerised by those piercing eyes.

"_Would you like to make a deal?_"

Emma nodded, "I…yes." She shook herself, "I'm looking for my son. He's eleven years old, brown hair, brown eyes. He was brought here through a portal by a man and a woman. Do you know anything about that?"

"_I've seen the boy you seek."_

"Where? Is he okay? Where did they take him?"

She tilted her head to the side, "_I would like my payment firsst. Any item of value will suffice._"

Emma hesitated, "I'll give it to you once you prove that you know him. Tell me his name."

The siren's lips curled into a wicked smile, "_you just have to trussst me. I only speak once I have received my payment. These are the terms of the deal._" She extended her arm, palm open.

Emma glanced down at the badge in her hand. She thought of Henry, scared and alone. He needed her, now more than ever. She couldn't let him down. She reached down slowly, holding out the badge.

"_Yesss,"_ the siren hissed.

"Swan?!" Emma heard heavy footfalls behind her, "what the bloody hell are you–_No!_"

Hook dove forward with a shout, knocking the badge out of her hand. It bounced onto the deck and skittered across the wood. The siren let out an animalistic shriek and lunged upwards, lightning fast. But Hook was faster. Before Emma had time to react, he was pushing her roughly away from the side of the ship. The siren was clinging onto the side of the ship, her hands scrabbling frantically for a hold. They found purchase in the lapels of that damned leather trench coat, dragging the pirate down, down, down, into the depths of the tossing water.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author Note:** First off, thank you all so much for the lovely feedback - I sincerely apologise for the previous cliff-hanger and all the ones to come. And Emma is being difficult for the moment, but she'll come around eventually. Hook can be very persuasive when he wants to be ;) There's also an overwhelming number of you following and favouriting this story, and I can't even express how happy that makes me. Just the fact that so many of you are liking this motivates me to no end. You guys are amazing :) So this chapter is kind of short but it's just what I envisioned with the whole Emma-falling-overboard scenario they were teasing before the first episode. Hope you like it and as always each and every review is greatly appreciated xx

* * *

"Hook?!"

Emma scanned the spot where he had disappeared just a second ago, but she could see nothing among the waves.

"Emma!" Snow and the others had come running as soon as they'd heard the commotion. Her mother gripped her arm, "what's happening? Where's Hook?"

"The siren," she managed to croak out, "it dragged him underwater." Before she could overthink what she was about to do, she shrugged off her jacket and gripped onto one of the ropes attached to the mast, hauling herself up onto the edge of the ship.

"No!" David tried to pull her back, "it's too dangerous."

She struggled against his grip, "we have to save him!" she could hear the panic bubbling up in her voice, "he's going to drown!"

"Emma–" her father started to say, but she didn't hear the rest, because she had already jumped.

The water hit her like a punch in the gut. It seeped into her clothes, her skin, her bones, turning her blood to ice. The world spun frantically as Emma was tossed among the waves like a ragdoll, her hands clawing at nothing as she fought to right herself, to determine up from down. She finally resurfaced, gasping, and saw the faces of the others peering anxiously down at her. They were growing smaller and smaller as the current swept her further away. She sucked in a deep breath and plunged back beneath the water, her eyes struggling to make sense of the dim shadows around her.

_There._

Hook and the siren were tangling together, both struggling for the upper hand. She started to swim towards them, but something clamped onto her arm and dragged her back. Another siren had her arm in a fierce grip, its sharp nails biting into Emma's flesh. The creature was pulling her downwards, into the murky depths of the water, and it was then that Emma saw them. A dozen more sirens, all beckoned by the first one's shriek, slicing through the water towards them. Terror seized her, more acute than the fear she had felt battling a dragon or warding off wraiths or even running from a giant. Pure instinct took over, and Emma lashed out with her foot, her boot connecting with the siren's torso. The creature's grip slipped momentarily, and that was enough time for Emma to writhe away from it. She only broke the surface for a second before she was dragged back under, but that was long enough. The cold air blasted through her lungs, giving her renewed strength. She fought with everything she had, kicking and clawing like an animal. Her nails caught the side of the siren's face, leaving a trail of blood. The siren's eyes narrowed, her hand coming up to clutch Emma's throat. Any breath she had left was squeezed from her lungs.

"_Stupid girl," _the siren hissed into her ear, the voice slick and oozing, like oil on concrete, _"you can't save him. You can't even save yourself."_

Emma turned her head frantically, but all she saw was glinting scales. Hook was lost in the darkness.

The siren's grip tightened, and she gasped, the water rushing into her lungs. It smothered her, flooding her ears, her nose, her mouth. She tried to break away, but her efforts were futile. They were closing in on her now. Fire licked up from her lungs to her throat.

_Can't breathe. Can't breathe. Can't breathe._

The world narrowed to two tiny pinpricks, and all she could see were the siren's eyes, cold and cruel.

She closed her eyes and thought of Henry, of her parents, of a pirate with fiery blue eyes.

_I'm sorry._

The world was fading away, receding into black. But then:

A tiny glimmer of light, nothing more than a speck, bloomed somewhere in the darkness. And it grew, and grew, and grew, becoming brighter and hotter until it enveloped her in its blinding light, pulsing behind her eyelids. Then it expanded rapidly outward from her, a wave of light that chased away the shadows. The siren shrieked as it was blasted backward by the light, and Emma opened her eyes, pushing upwards for air. She emerged from the water, choking and gasping. What the hell had just happened?

All speculation fled her mind when she saw a figure floating motionless among the waves. Hook.

She swam towards him, her wet clothes weighing her down and making each stroke dull and slow, as if she were wading through cement. When she finally reached him, she shook him frantically, saying his name. He wouldn't stir. Emma floundered in the water, glancing back at the ship. It was too far away. She would never make it back in time to save him.

Then her feet touched sand.

She heaved Hook with her into the shallows. The pirate was a dead weight, his leather jacket and layers of clothes soaked through. She only managed to get half of his body out of the water and onto the beach before she collapsed beside him, shivering from cold and exhaustion.

"Hook?"

He was completely still, unmoving. She leaned her head down to his chest, ignoring the frigid water lapping at her ankles as she knelt over him. She couldn't tell if he was breathing or not.

"Hook?!" she shook his shoulder, her voice rising hysterically. No response. She shook him harder, her voice cracking as hot salty tears stung her eyes, "wake up, you arrogant bastard." She tried to remember how to administer CPR, but all she had were vague recollections, fragments from her health classes in high school; something about compressions. It was useless.

She dropped her voice to a whisper, "please…" she hesitated, "…_Killian_. Please wake up."

His eyes remained closed, his lips blue from the cold.

She squeezed hers shut, tasting her tears.

_Oh God. Not again. Please…Please…_

"You bloody idiot."

Emma's eyes flew open, latching onto his blue ones. A moment later he was dragging himself up onto one elbow and turning his head, coughing and retching out a gallon of water into the sand.

"You're alive," she gasped.

"Sorry to disappoint you darling," he coughed once more before flopping onto his back, "it takes more than a few damned sirens to get rid of me." Now he glared at her, "I was trying to save you. Why couldn't you just let me?"

"Right," she rolled her eyes, "_you_ were saving _me_. The only reason you're breathing right now is because I jumped in after you. You're welcome, by the way."

"As I said before, you're an idiot if you think your life is worth risking for a pirate."

She scowled, "I wasn't just going to sit there and let you die, was I?"

He looked at her for a moment, then smirked, "I like a lass who takes control."

She was about to snap out some retort, but his hand brushing the hair away from her face stopped her.

"I heard you, you know," he said softly, his gaze catching hers. He wrapped a lock of her wet hair around his finger, "you called me Killian."

She paused. "Well, it's your name, isn't it?"

They looked at each other for a moment, words passing between them in silence. Finally, he smiled, "aye. That it is."

It was only then that Emma registered sand crunching beneath her, the birds swooping and wheeling overhead. She looked up the beach, to the place where the sand met a tangle of thick forest.

They were on the island.


End file.
